The Salt of the Sea
by 1destiny
Summary: After a shipwreck strands him out at sea, Alfred is recovered by a band of pirates under the command of Captain Arthur Kirkland. Not knowing what to do with him, Arthur takes Alfred prisoner. Alfred is repulsed by the captain's seemingly cruel and sadistic personality, but as their adventure continues, Alfred wonders if there's maybe more he can't see to this man. UK/US. Fantasy.
1. Chapter 1

Three days. Three times had the sun risen and set again. Three days adrift in an endless sea. Alfred stared up at the cloudless blue sky, taking none of it in. The splintered boards that held him rocked with the gentle motion of the waves and water flowed over the edges, keeping the young man perpetually wet. His mouth and throat were bone dry. His empty stomach twisted inside of him painfully, begging for any sort of sustenance, but its cries were in vain. There was nothing but an empty ocean all around him. With more effort than it should have taken, Alfred lifted his arms and stared at the ropes binding his wrists tightly together. The seawater had swollen the bonds, making the already impressive knot even tighter. The skin beneath was worn raw and red and twinged with pain at every slight movement. Would it be faster, he pondered, to drink the salty water that surrounded him than it would for starvation to take him? Would it hurt less? He had heard the stories about how saltwater was poison; how it would bleed the very life from you if you were to drink it. But he was so thirsty. It didn't seem like there was any chance of him escaping this situation alive.

His tongue dragged ineffectually over his parched lips and he sighed, letting his eyes fall closed.

"Matthew…" he whispered to himself, "I'm sorry. I'm so… so sorry…"

He didn't know how long he laid there with nothing but his own regrets for company. But gradually, he took notice of an increase in the movement of his bit of wreckage. His eyes begrudgingly pulled open and he gazed around himself, searching for the cause of the increasing wave activity. It was an easy answer. Where there had previously been nothing, now there was the slowly growing silhouette of a large ship. He stared at its expanding shape, wondering if it was a hallucination. But no. The longer he watched it, the clearer it became that it was really there! For the first time in three days, hope began to swell inside him.

Alfred tried to push himself into a seated position, but his makeshift raft tilted alarmingly. If he fell into the water, he knew he wouldn't have the strength to keep himself afloat for very long. He stopped his shifting and opened his mouth to shout, hoping he would at least be heard.

"HEEEEEEEYYYYY! OVER HERE! I'M OVER HERE! MAN OVERBOARD! HEEEEEELP!"

Several minutes passed, feeling more like days. The boat was heading right for him now. His heart thundered in his chest. He was saved! His life wasn't over!

"I'M HERE! OVER HERE! HELP! I'M RIght her-"

His shouting slowly died out. The ship was close enough to see clearly now, and as he watched a black flag was being raised up the mast.

Pirates. Oh god, not pirates. Not again.

The ship drew near and Alfred stared up the side of the enormous vessel, feeling like an ant looking up at a boot ready to crush him. Faces appeared over the side. Twenty or so people began shouting down at him.

"Oi! What you doin' there? You seem a bit lost!"

"I've been where you are, mate! After a few pints, I also wake up in some weird places!"

"Think we found us a mermaid, boys! Hey! Sing us a song, mermaid!"

"Think we should give the poor bastard a hand, lads?" This question got a roar of ascent from all assembled. The faces vanished from Alfred's sight as they sprung into action.

A net tumbled over the side, long enough to reach all the way down and hit the water. Two Pirates descended the net like spiders in a web, ropes wrapped around their waists that led back up the way they came. It took no time at all for the men to be leaning in close to get a good look at Alfred. Alfred could smell them. The scent of sweat mixed with gunpowder and tobacco smoke was almost strong enough to make him wretch. They untied the ropes around themselves with one hand and then dropped off into the ocean. Alfred once again struggled to sit up, only to find the ropes thrown over his chest and looped around his floating sanctuary. He was swiftly bound tightly to the board.

"Right! He's squared! Bring him up!" Called the man treading water to Alfred's left. He saw the two that hat tied him swimming back to the net and then, suddenly, he lurched upwards a distance as the ropes snapped taught and the rhythmic call of 'heave-ho' echoed above him. He was raised a few feet at a time, every pull causing his platform to bang loudly against the side of the ship. When he reached the top, hands grabbed him and hauled him on board, then got to work untying the ropes used to hoist him, but leaving the bonds that had held his wrists together for many days already. Two pirates grabbed him one under each arm and hauled Alfred into a kneeling position.

"Ho-ho," A ragged looking pirate with an eyepatch laughed, "Not a bad catch, now that I'm getting a proper look at him. A right big fella."

"I don't know about that," sneered a woman with roughly chopped red hair, "big, sure, but he's one ugly fish. I say throw him back." This got a laugh out of the gathered pirates. Toes of boots kicked uncomfortably at Alfred's legs and callused hands touched his arms and turned his face this way and that.

"Look at his hands! He's all trussed up like a present! How lovely!"

"What's this, then?" One of the crew grabbed at a thin gold chain peeking out from under the collar of Alfred's tattered shirt and gave it a yank. The thin links snapped like paper and a shining gold locket was removed from his person. A thrill of anxiety and anger shot through Alfred and he growled, pure adrenaline driving him to his feet to lunge at the pirate who had taken it. He was shoved down to the deck all too easily by the surrounding crowd, his starved body lacking the strength he needed to reclaim the treasure. The amused hooting of pirate who had taken it grated on his ears like glass scraping glass.

"Lord, he's still got some life in him after all!"

"Look at those eyes! He looks like he wishes he could kill every one of us!"

"Come on, fishy, ain't ya gonna fight us?"

The crew continued to harass Alfred for several minutes, and his struggles to shove them off only seemed to egg them on. One grabbed at his face. Furiously, Alfred opened his mouth and sank his teeth as deep into the man's flesh as he could Manage. The man howled and punched Alfred in the temple, causing his vision to blur. His mouth opened, releasing the hand as he fell sideways. The infuriated pirate kicked him hard in the stomach, the action no longer playful or teasing. Instinctually, Alfred curled in on himself, able to see the man rearing back for another attack. But then he froze.

The pirates surrounding Alfred quickly fell silent. Only the gentle thudding of slow footsteps remained. The crowd parted. Laying on his side on the deck, Alfred saw a pair of fine leather boots come to rest right in front of his face. His eyes followed them up. Slender legs in brown trousers flowed into a loose white linen shirt and a shockingly crimson red and gold coat worn around square shoulders like a cape. And above the shoulders was a square-jawed face on a muscled neck. Golden hair that seemed to glow in the sunlight peeked out from the base of a tricorn hat. And finally, Alfred's gaze locked with a pair of emerald green eyes that stared down at him with neither kindness nor malice, but with an energy that felt like it flowed into Alfred's very being. It was like a blast of electricity straight to his heart.

"Report," the green-eyed man demanded, his stare lingering on Alfred.

"Aye, Captain!" The pirate holding Alfred's locket nodded obediently. "While on course, the scouts spotted what appeared to be evidence of a recent shipwreck. The ship was brought close to investigate and see if we couldn't recover any goods. As we drew nearer, Stevie spotted a person in the wreckage from her place in the Crowsnest. We hauled him aboard. Looked like he had been drifting a couple of days, though he was only a short way from the rest of the wreck. Some kind of prisoner, by the looks of him. He was already tied up when we brought him aboard."

"Did he have anything on him?"

"Just this, Captain." The pirate held out the locket to the captain, who took it and examined it a moment, watching it catch the light as it swayed in his grasp. Then he handed it back to the one that had given it to him.

"Put it in my quarters. I want to take a proper look at it later."

"Aye Aye, Captain!" Locket in hand, the pirate ran out of Alfred's field of view. The captain was not done giving orders, it seemed.

"Stand him up."

Two crewmembers jumped into action, grabbing Alfred roughly by the arms and hauling him into a standing position. Had they not kept hold of him, Alfred surely would have fallen on his face. Supported by the two pirated, Alfred stared into the face of the ship's captain. With the same intense gaze, the captain drew a sword from his belt, the sound of metal scraping cutting sharply through the air. The flat of the curved blade pressed against Alfred's cheek. Slowly, the cold metal pushed his head one way, and then the other as the captain stared intently at him.

"Hmm. Handsome lad. Young, too. Left floating in the sea for fate knows how long and not a hair on your chin. You're just barely grown, aren't you?" The question seemed focused more on himself than on Alfred, as he didn't wait for any sort of answer.

The sword left his face and traveled down his neck to his collar bone. Alfred could feel the edge of the weapon, no thicker than a hair and sharp as could be. It pressed against his skin without actually breaking it. Alfred held his breath, lest the rise and fall of his chest cause the cutlas to taste his blood. The blade began a slow journey downward. It met the fabric of Alfred's shirt. Then, with a movement so swift that it was shocking after the snail's pace from before, the sword sliced clean through Alfred's already worse for wear garment. It fell open, revealing his toned chest to all gathered there. His intense state of dehydration caused his muscles to stand out more obviously than usual, and the captain eyed his body with a thoughtful click of his tongue as the sword was put away.

"You don't look like a politician or a royal. You don't have the doughy build those sorts usually acquire. In fact, you don't look like anyone important at all. You're not a sailor. That's for certain. I can tell that just by looking at you. You stand stiff, letting the ship move you instead of moving with it. You don't feel the heartbeat of the sea. So what are you doing out here? And why are you all tied up?"

Suddenly the captain stepped forward and his hands pressed against Alfred's chest. The roved and explored the curves of Alfred's torso with determined curiosity. His hands were softer than those of his crew, but still uncomfortably rough as they roved. This close to him, Alfred could see the graceful features of his face, from the regal slope of his nose to the long eyelashes that framed those jewel-like eyes. Alfred squirmed uncomfortably, but if the captain noticed his discomfort, he ignored it.

"You're built like a brick wall. I've felt anchors flimsier than you are. And you've got your fair share of scars. You're some kind of working man, then? Or maybe a prizefighter. Or perhaps a slave. Were you trying to escape and got caught? Or were you on your way to be sold? Or perhaps you're a thief of some sort. A criminal who was hurled overboard left at the mercy of the unforgiving ocean.

Alfred scowled, now doing his best to look anywhere but at the man probing his body for answers. What was left of his pride bubbled to the surface.

"I'm not a criminal." He spat, words directed at the captain even as he stared daggers at one of the masts. "I'd never stoop so low as to steal what isn't mine. Don't lump me in with you and your friends."

His scathing words brought the captain's attention back to his face. The man grabbed Alfred's chin and unceremoniously forced Alfred's undivided attention back on him. Alfred could fully see the mocking sneer that had taken over the blond man's expression.

"You think we're criminals?"

"I know you're criminals. You and your band of thieves and murderers."

"You hear that, lads?" The captain called to the assembled crew, "He called us thieves and murderers! Oh dear me, how did our reputation get so bad?" The pirates all began to laugh and jeer, and the captain's smirk only grew. "The thing is," he said to Alfred, leaning in close as he mockingly lowered his voice, his hot breath blowing against Alfred's ear "to be a criminal, you have to break the law. To break the law, there has to be laws to break. Now tell me, lad, what sort of laws do you think there are out here?" He leaned back, eyebrows raised. "None. The sea has no laws. We are free men and women, doing as we please, when we please, how we please. So no. We're not criminals. We're pirates."

The captain dropped the mocking whisper and his expression became less malicious and more of a playful smirk. Only his eyes retained that intense power about them. God, those eyes. Why was it so hard to look away when they were staring right at him?

"What's your name?" He asked. And Alfred, not wanting to give him anymore ground to play with him than he already had, stayed stubbornly silent. The captain waited, gaze boring holes into him. And suddenly his expression transformed, twisting into a look of anger and impatience. "I asked for your name." He said, tone demanding now. Still, Alfred bit his tongue.

Quick as a striking snake, the captain released his body and snatched either side of his rent shirt. With more force than Alfred would have expected he was shoved backward. The crew holding him up let go of him and he stumbled until his back struck the ship's railing. The captain pushed him still harder, leaning him back precariously over the gaping ocean thirty feet below.

"You listen here, boy, and you listen good," the captain snarled, "I asked for a name. I don't give a rats ass if you give me your real name or not, but I asked for a name. I said you're hard as a stone before but if you don't do what I tell you in the next instant we're going to find out if you sink like one as well. Now. What. Is. Your. Name?" His defiance fleeing from him at the idea of being thrust back into the endless ocean, Alfred relented, his so recently rediscovered sense of pride slinking back into the depths of his heart.

"Alfred," he muttered, only just loud enough to hear. "Alfred Jones."

The captain sniffed and pulled him back to safety, releasing his grip on the weakened Alfred and watching him crumble to the deck.

"Alright then, Alfred. Here's what you need to know. My name is Captain Arthur Kirkland. I am known across these seas as the green devil. You have found your way onto my ship, The Harpy. And from here until I decide what to do with you, you are my prisoner. If you ever cross me again, I will kill you on the spot. Understood?" and without waiting for an answer, Captain Arthur Kirkland stepped over Alfred and began striding back toward the back of his ship. "Put him in the brig with the other one," he called to his crew without looking back. "Give him some food and water. Everyone back to work. We dock in Nova by month's end or someone's head is going to adorn the mast."

"Aye, Captain!" The crew chanted in unison. As all the pirates dispersed and took up their duties across the deck, two pulled Alfred upright and began dragging him toward a set of stairs leading down into the darkness of the ship's interior. Alfred struggled weakly against them, turning to face the retreating back of Arthur.

"Wait!" Alfred shouted. "Wait, you bastard! Give me back my locket! Give it back to me!"

Arthur stopped and turned slowly, and for the first time, his gaze was truly cruel. "Your locket? I think you're mistaking. It's my locket now."

Without another word, Alfred was dragged down into the ship. The rapid transition from light to dark left Alfred blinded and at the total mercy of his captors. He was aware of descending several flights of stairs before being pushed down into a seated position. By the time his vision began to adjust to the lack of sunlight, an iron collar had been clapped shut around his neck and a sturdy rope had been threaded through a loop in the back of it and into another loop nailed deep into the wall. Alfred's wrists remained tightly bound, but enough movement remained to him that when a tin cup of water was placed next to him he was able to clumsily grasp it in both hands and raise it to his lips. He greedily gulped the stale water down his gullet as quickly as physically possible, feeling the almost immediate relief it brought to his parched throat. All too soon it was empty. Futile anger flashed through him at the predicament he had found himself in and he hurled the empty cup into the darkness with all his might. It struck the opposite wall with a clang and skittered off somewhere unseeable.

"Please be careful not to hit me with one of those. That would be extremely painful, I'm assuming." A voice emanated from the darkness, surprising Alfred. It seemed he wasn't alone down here. Narrowing his eyes, more of the shadows gave way as he became acustomed to the dimness and the vague outline of a figure came through. They were situated much like he was; sitting upright against the far wall, hands bound and neck locked in a collar.

"...Sorry." Alfred said after a moment's hesitation.

"Apology accepted," The voice replied. It sounded like a male voice, with an ironic amount of cheerfulness coloring it. "I understand how frustrating it is when you're first locked up down here. When they first captured me, I thrashed around and pounded the walls. It didn't help anything, obviously, but it felt good to be doing something."

"First captured? How long have they had you tied up down here?"

"Hoooo…" A long thoughtful exhaling of breath precluded the answer to Alfred's question. "It's hard to say. There's never any change in the light except when they open up the doors to the deck, so its time is tricky to grasp down here. But I'd say at least a couple weeks."

"A couple of weeks," Alfred repeated, feeling a pit of dread forming in his stomach.

"Don't let it get to you, friend," the other said consolingly. "It'll be alright. We're alive, aren't we? And I'm a bit of a special case. I'm sure you'll be out of here long before I am."

"Who are you?" Alfred questioned, struggling to make out the features of his cell mate.

"I am Antonio Fernandez Carido, Admiral of the nation of Espa. I'm a pirate hunter, so, needless to say, Kirkland has something of a beef with me." Antonio concluded his statement with a laugh that was equal parts humor and bitterness. "What about you, my friend? Who are you? And how'd they get their grubby hands on you?"

"I'm Alfred. I'm no one special yet. A ship I was on sunk, and I was just floating in the sea. I was there for days. Then this group suddenly appears and hauls me up. The captain stole the only thing I had in this world and threw me down here."

"My condolences," Antonio said, and his sympathy sounded sincere. His was the first friendly voice he had heard in days, and it automatically filled Alfred with a certain sense of camaraderie with this other man.

"It could be worse, I guess." Alfred posited, shrugging his shoulders and already wishing for another cup of water. "I'm still alive. I've still got a chance."

"You're right. It could be worse. And now at least neither of us is alone any longer. We have someone to talk to now, and conversation makes the time pass so much faster, yes?"

"Yeah. I suppose it does," Alfred sighed. He slumped against his wall, getting as comfortable as he could while he awaited the progression of his fate.


	2. Chapter 2

_ He was in a dark room. There was a fire in the fireplace that was starting to dwindle, casting high-contrast shadows across the face of a second man slouched in a plush armchair, tugging contentedly on a smoldering cigar. He spared a glance toward the second man as if checking he was still there, then he turned back to his desk. There, a flickering candle illuminated a heavy-looking history book and the scattered notes on odd bits of paper, most of them completely filled with tiny writing or large sketches of bizarre-looking creatures. He picked up his quill from out of the inkpot and continued the work on the one he had most recently begun._

_ The nib of his quill moved quickly as he glanced back and forth from the book to his notes. The longer he went, the more focused he seemed to become. He gradually bent down closer and closer, nose threatening to touch the paper every few minutes. The words he wrote appeared to be completely illegible, perhaps because penmanship was second to the speed of his recording at the moment. All the notes were similar, however, the tiny script that adorned them entirely unreadable to any eye but the one who had penned them._

_ A third figure entered the room, making soft snuffling sounds as it lumbered along. It plodded over to the man in the armchair and sniffed at him. The man, reclined and relaxed as he chomped his cigar, opened one lazy eye at the unexpected interruption. Both eyes shot open and his smoke fell from his mouth as he yelped in shock, realizing that he suddenly faced a huge white bear._

_ The man tumbled out of his armchair and raised his arms to defend himself. The sudden commotion snapped the man at the desk out of his intense focus. He looked around and seemed to try and stifle a laugh. A gentle smile adorning his face, he called to the bear. As it turned and made it's way to his side, he scratched its small furry ears and tried to calm the other man. Calm down, Maximo, he said, this bear was a friend of his. It had saved his life. The other man-called Maximo-didn't seem entirely ready to just trust such a large animal, and, while he lowered his arms and left his fighting stance, he still remained somewhat tense. He chuckled at Maximo's wariness and hugged his fuzzy companion gently. The bear nuzzled him, then went to lay in front of the chair by the fire. Maximo moved farther away from the bear and went to stand beside the desk, where he looked over the notes and commented on the awful handwriting. In response to the criticism, he just smiled. He turned back to his work for just a moment, moving the quill to the bottom of the page and signing his name in a looping, beautiful script. __**M. Williams.**_

_ Finished with his notes, he began gathering them all into a manageable pile, carefully placing the one which still had wet ink on top. Catching some sort of cue, Maximo bent down and pulled a small wooden chest from under the desk. It was made of dark wood, and looked to be about two feet long, a foot wide, and a foot and a half deep. The iron bands around it were shiny, indicating that it was newly made. He thanked Maximo and opened the chest with a small silver key. Into the chest went all his notes and the large book. The lid was shut. The lock was turned. He went to pick up the chest by the iron rings attached to either side, but a sudden look of pain clouded his face and the chest clunked back onto the desk. His hands covered the upper right half of his chest and both Maximo and the bear moved to his side quickly. Was he alright, Maximo asked, had the wound reopened? The bear nosed at his hand, looking as concerned as a bear could look. He shook his head, looking sheepish now. He was fine, he promised. The chest was just heavier than he expected._

_ Maximo lifted the chest instead, chiding the other for even trying it while he was hurt. He didn't have to hand him the chest. He could pick it up himself. He nodded and put the key into his pocket. From there, he and the bear walked Maximo to the front door of the small house. Maximo put on a heavy wool coat and a thick scarf and looked unhappily out the window at the falling snow. He promised to be back the same time the next night with the chest. Finally, he told him to take care of himself. He watched Maximo exit, quickly fading into the white background with his work. The door was shut and locked with at least five deadbolts. The bear took up his post outside his bedroom door. He stopped and stroked the bear along the length of his body, pausing momentarily when he reached the bandages wrapping the bear's side. They were a matching set to the bandages peeking out of his own shirt. He said a gentle goodnight to the bear, then he entered the bedroom and locked the door._

"Hey. Alfred, wake up."

A soft nudging of his foot brought Alfred to consciousness. He blinked blearily and rubbed at his eyes with his bound hands. Antonio's empty wooden bowl was sitting by his foot, having just been kicked across the floor. Across from him, Antonio was looking at him with curiosity.

"What is it?" Alfred asked him.

"You were talking in your sleep. Sounded like you were having one hell of a dream, too. Something about bears and treasure chests."

"No… no it wasn't really like that." Alfred raised his arms above his head, stretching in the only way he could. His tin cup had been refilled with water while he rested. He leaned down and scooped it up, making sure to sip at it slowly rather than guzzling it all down at once. "I was dreaming about my brother."

"Is your brother a bear?" Antonio asked him, and though Alfred couldn't see him clearly he could hear the implied eyebrow raise in his voice. Alfred's mouth twitched slightly, bringing the closest thing to a smile he had worn in days.

"No. He has a friend who's a bear. Or maybe it's a pet? At least, in the dream, he had a bear. And it was there the last time I dreamed about him too."

"Dream about your brother a lot, don't you?"

"More than usual, lately," Alfred confessed.

"What's he like?" Antonio asked him, pulling his knees up to rest his arms on them.

"I don't really know." Alfred mirrored his cellmate's motion, leaning against his legs. "I haven't seen him in years."

"No joke?" Antonio said, mild surprise coloring the phrase.

"Yeah. We were separated when we were just kids. But, in my dreams, he's crazy smart. Kinda quiet too. Likes to read. But also brave enough to face down a guy trying to kill him, and calm enough not to panic when…" Alfred trailed off, frowning pensively as he recalled his last Matthew dream.

"Not to panic when he finds out his friend is a bear?"

"Heh. Yeah. Guess so." He accepted the comment as an out to stop thinking about the topic. "You got any family, Antonio?"

"Me? No, I'm afraid not. No real family, anyway. But I have something of a found family back in Espa. See, I don't have any living relatives as far as I know, but the servants in my manner back home are my closest friends. I know they'd do anything for me. And I've done all I can to keep them happy and well off. There's Emma, her older brother, Abel, and then there's Lovino." Antonio sighed, and for the first time since Alfred had arrived, the other man sounded sad. "I miss them. I hope they're alright. If the government decides that I'm dead, all my land and goods will be redistributed to other noble lords and ladies. Would they have anywhere to go if that happened?"

The conversation trailed off into silence. Both men were prisoners to their own whirling thoughts.

A pillar of light burst through the darkness as a door was opened. One of the pirates stepped down into the brig. Alfred recognized her as the red-headed woman that had mocked him when he had been pulled from the sea.

"The two of you smell like piss." She sneered, at the prisoners. Antonio's cheerful voice took on a hint of hostility as he addressed the woman.

"That's probably because the waste buckets are getting a bit full. It's right there if you're thirsty. Help yourself."

"If you don't watch your mouth, you're going to be the one eating shit, _Admiral._" The use of Antonio's title was mocking. The pirate swaggered over to Alfred and began untying the knot that held him to the wall. "As for you, fish, Captain wants a word with you. You better not make a fuss. If you give me any trouble, I have permission to run my dagger through your spine.

"What would he want to talk to me about?" The woman freed the rope from the wall and gave it a tug, jerking Alfred forward by the neck like a naughty dog.

"Do I look like the captain, fish? No. Then why the hell would you think I know? Just get up there." With her free hand, she brandished a dagger at him. Not wanting to be gutted like the fish all the pirates joked he was, Alfred pushed himself upright and was relieved to find he was able to once again stand under his own will. A couple of meals (meager though they were) and some water had driven the chill of near-death from his muscles. He felt the tip of the pirate's blade poke him in the small of the back, urging him forward.

"Alfred," Antonio called after him, "Beware that man. Don't believe a word he says to you. And don't give him what he wants, whatever it is. I will pray for your safe return."

"I wish you'd pray for my safe release instead but the sentiment is appreciated," Alfred replied and climbed the stairs. The bright sunlight was blinding, and Alfred got the sense that it was late in the morning if not noon. As Antonio had said, time in the brig was difficult to judge. He had slept now, but he had no clue for how long. It could have been two hours, or it could have been twenty. Was it the day after he had been captured? Or more? He had been fed by the pirates twice now. Were they once a day feedings? Once every other day? His puzzling must have caused him to slow down because he received a nasty poke from his handler urging him forward. There would be plenty of time to ponder the passage of days back in the brig.

All around them sailors moved across the deck with purpose. Alfred was suddenly struck by just how organized this pirate ship was. Everyone had their job and was doing it with efficiency. Even he-who knew only the basics of sailing-could appreciate just how disciplined the pirates all were. His handler drove him toward the raised quarter-deck, where he could see another pirate he recognized. It was the man who had stripped him of his locket. He watched the crew move about, occasionally shouting an order to those below.

"Careful," the woman behind him warned, a grin in her voice, "the first mate is known to take the eyes of anyone who looks at him funny."

"Noted…" Alfred muttered, turning his gaze forward again. They passed the first mate and kept going back until he was standing before a door with elegant carvings adorning its frame and a gleaming brass handle.

"Open it and go in," the red-haired woman commanded. "Captain is expectin' you."

With nowhere else to go, Alfred obeyed and stepped inside. The pirate behind him dropped his rope and let him enter alone, yanking the door shut behind him, leaving Alfred alone with the self-proclaimed 'Green Devil.'

The room was the largest he had yet seen on the ship and was regally decorated with a plush crimson carpet that felt amazing under his bare feet. The walls displayed maps, charts, and fine paintings in gilded frames depicting various aspects of life on the see. On the opposite side of the room was a half-open door which, from what he could see, led into a room with a large bed and a window that looked out over the ocean behind the ship. In the middle of the room sat a polished mahogany desk, two basic stools sitting empty in front of it, and a chair padded with velvet cushions. This chair was being occupied by the captain. He leaned it back carelessly, letting it balance on its back legs while his feet sat crossed on the desk's surface. Arthur didn't look up as Alfred came in. Instead, he remained entirely focused on the small golden locket that he held by the broken chain.

"Sit," Arthur commanded lazily. When Alfred didn't move from his spot, Arthur looked over at him, one eyebrow raised. "Is being asked to sit really worth being defiant about? It would definitely be the pettiest reason I've ever made someone walk the plank." Alfred still didn't move. Captain Kirkland rolled his eyes in annoyance and took his feet down, letting his chair fall back onto all fours. "If I have to, I will drag you by that rope around your neck to that stool, and I won't be gentle about it. It's your choice. Walk under your own power or be paraded about like a stupid animal." Begrudgingly, Alfred moved forward and stood in front of the stool. But he still refused to sit. Arthur stared at him a moment, then seemed to decide it wasn't worth the effort and simply shrugged.

"Suit yourself. You're just making yourself uncomfortable." Arthur flipped the locket open with his thumb and watched as the contents fell to the desk. Two small locks of blond hair, tied with a blue ribbon and a purple ribbon and a pressed flower, white and no larger than the nail on one's smallest finger. Arthur looked into the now empty locket, his eyes moving to read the engraving inside that Alfred knew by heart. _Marcus W. + Amelia J. Love Eternal. _

"Whose locket was this?" Arthur asked at last.

"It's mine," Alfred told him flatly.

"Wrong. It's mine. I asked you who it belonged to."

"To me."

"Oh. So am I to understand you are actually Marcus W or Amelia J?"

"No. Amelia was my mother. Amelia Jones. It was hers before it was mine."

"And Marcus your father?"

"Stepfather." Alfred corrected, unable to keep all the disgust out of his voice.

"I see." Arthur looked at the bauble appraisingly, shutting it and turning it over in his fingers. Alfred watched as he traced the delicate embellishments and the expert artistry of it. His fingers paused at one of the small divots that ringed the face of the locket where little gemstones used to reside before Alfred had dug them out and sold them. "Was I wrong before? Are you actually some politician's son or prince?"

"No," said Alfred curtly.

"A merchant, then? Someone with a significant amount of money without holding land or title?"

"No," he repeated.

"A craftsman? From a family of goldsmith or jewelers, perhaps?"

"No."

"Well then, if you truly are a nobody from a family of nobodies, I can't imagine how your mother-and you by extension-came to own such a fine piece of jewelry. Was she some noble lord's mistress, by any chance?"

Alfred's hands balled into fists and his teeth clenched. If his wrists were untied he would have lunged at the captain and wrapped his fingers around his throat for that question. Instead, he stood there, stiff as a board, as he answered the question.

"No. She wasn't. Marcus was a wealthy sailor that decided that he liked the look of my mother. It was a gift to gain her affection."

"I wasn't that far off. She married a man for his money and got this little trinket out of the deal."

"Shut up," Alfred spat, absolutely seething with rage. "You don't know anything!"

"I know all I care to know about the topic," Arthur said dismissively. "What happened to the gemstones?"

"I sold them."

"Really? That's odd. You seem so attached to this thing, yet you were willing to deface it for money? What would your dear beloved mother say if she knew?"

"I don't care about the locket. I need it, is all."

"Need it? For what? Drinking money."

"I need it to prove who I am."

"And who is going to give a damn about who you are?"

Alfred bit his tongue, refusing to answer and give Arthur more to mock him with. Arthur seemed to care little about the answer and moved right along. He picked up the locks of hair, one in each hand, staring up at Alfred.

"What are these?"

"Hair. It's mine and my brother's, taken from when we were kids."

"Hmm." He ran fingers over the hair thoughtfully. "Which one is yours?"

"The blue ribbon."

Arthur set the purple tied tuft down and stood, walking around the desk to stand in front of Alfred. He reached for Alfred's head. Instinctively, Alfred leaned back.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, remembering all too clearly the last time the captain had touched him.

"Stay still," Arthur commanded, ignoring the question entirely. He held the lock of hair up to Alfred's head, looking between it and Alfred's mop of hair, unkempt from days of neglect. He held the lock against his palm with two fingers and took hold of a bit of Alfred's hair with thumb and forefinger, twisting it gently between them. With his free hand, Arthur drew a dagger from his belt. Seeing the knife, Alfred tried to move away again, but Arthur yanked the tuft of hair he had a hold of painfully. He brought the knife up and sliced off a new lock of hair. Then, holding both in his palm, he moved back around to sit down once again. Alfred stared at him, absolutely perplexed by this action.

"What did you do that for?"

"Because I wanted to." Arthur dropped the tied hair back onto the desk and pocketed the lock he had just taken. "What about the flower?"

"Um," Alfred stammered, completely thrown off by the strange behavior of the pirate leader. "It's a lily of the valley. From her wedding bouquet."

"How disgustingly sentimental." Arthur sniffed and put the contents of the locket back where he belonged before adding the Jewelry to his pocket.

"Hold on," Alfred spoke up, starting to get a hold of himself once more. "I want that back!"

"Do you?" Arthur sneered at him, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Do you want it back? Well, everyone wants something. Me? I want a million crowns. And you know what? I have a million crowns. That's the difference between you and me. I actually have the power to get what I want. What I want now is to get more answers to my questions out of you. So, moving right along. How did you get those scars? The ones over your chest and back."

"Does it matter?"

"Not really," Arthur admitted, "but I'm curious, and you aren't in much of a position not to answer me. I told you before, I don't care if it's the truth or not. Just tell me something. Preferably interesting."

"I...I was robbed." Alfred turned his eyes toward the ceiling and scratched his face. "And the thief had a four-inch blade and he cut me several places."

"Lie." Arthur said, taking Alfred aback.

"You said you didn't care if I lied."

"I wouldn't care, but it was so painfully obvious that you were coming up with that on the spot, and on top of that your lie wasn't even interesting."

"You don't know I'm lying. You can't prove anything. Besides, life doesn't always create some wild story."

"One," Arthur held up a finger for emphasis. "Your physical tells are right out there in the open. You showed every one in the book. You looked up away from me. Eyes typically drift upward when the owner is trying to imagine something. Your hands went to your face. Sure, you might have just had an itch, but combined with the other tells, that's unlikely. Two." A second finger went up. "Your delivery was slow and stilted. You paused right at the beginning as you put the pieces in place before you spoke. And three," a third finger, "too much information in some places while not enough in other. Why the hell would you tell me how long his blade was? That reeks of trying to sound more credible. Why would you even remember how long it was when you couldn't seem to remember where he cut you? Pain leaves a sharp memory in the mind. I'm sure you remember the exact details of how you actually got those wounds. So try again. And do better this time."

This entire conversation had been nothing but draining on Alfred. He was tired of talking to this lunatic and frustrated with his patronizing tone and lack of boundaries. At this point, he would have liked nothing more than to go back to the dark and quiet brig.

"Fighting."

"Those are some pretty nasty scars from just a fistfight."

"I was a career brawler in underground matches."

"Good, that's interesting. Tell me about that. Try and keep it convincing."

"I was always strong. So to keep myself fed and clothed I fought people, and the wealthy who wanted a bit of a thrill would put bets on me to either win or lose."

"Were you any good?"

"Yeah. I won a lot. It got me a reputation with the other fighters. You only got paid if you won. Some of them started hiding shards of broken glass in their clothes. If they felt like they were losing, they'd bring them out and try and stab me. And it was an underground fighting ring, so there weren't really rules against it. The crowd didn't care if you got hurt. Actually, they preferred it, I think. The first time it happened, I wasn't prepared for it. That's how I got the scar on my left side. It was deep and I was scared, so I surrendered that fight. After a few more times of it happening, though, I got used to it. I learned what to look for and how to make them drop it."

"That's more like it." Arthur nodded. "I was decently entertained. Let's try another one. How'd you end up tied up like a roast pig in the middle of the ocean?"

"I was visiting a-"

"You're lying."

"You didn't even let me finish!"

"I didn't need to. Your eyes went up again. Start over."

"I was a stowaway, alright!"

"So you snuck onto a ship. Why?"

"I wanted to get somewhere but I didn't have the money to book passage."

"And you got caught. And they threw you overboard."

"No. They tied me up in the hold, but the ship was attacked."

"By pirates?" Arthur's smug smile was almost too much for Alfred to bear.

"Yes. By dirty scummy pirates like you."

"How'd you escape the pirates?" Arthur asked.

"I didn't. They left me in the hold and sunk the ship. A huge hole was blown into the hold where I was and water was rushing in. I waited for it to fill up and then swam to the surface and onto the biggest piece of wood I could find."

"A surprisingly intelligent move. If you had tried to leave before it filled up, you just would have tired yourself out and drowned. So where were you trying to get to? And why?"

Alfred breathed in deep through his nose and out slowly, making an effort to calm himself. How had Arthur gotten him so frazzled?

"I wanted a change of scenery." He said, simply.

"Lie," said Arthur.

"No." Alfred protested, frowning deeply. "It's the truth. I wanted to leave the town I felt trapped in."

"A boring Lie."

"How do you know? I made sure not to give myself away with any of those tells."

"I didn't know. I just suspected. But I know now because you were kind enough to tell me. Oh, don't look so dumbfounded. Giving someone enough rope to hang themself with is the oldest trick in the book. I just trusted that your frustration would cause you to give yourself away. And it did."

At a loss for words, Alfred jammed his mouth shut and glared down at the bright red carpet beneath him. He heard Arthur sigh

"God, you really are the worst liar I have ever met. Well, now that that is over, I've decided what to do with you. I'll keep you on board until we dock in the Remnan Empire. Then I'll sell you to the coliseum. You'll fetch me some good money there. They're always looking for new Gladiators."

"You're going to sell me into slavery?"

"Essentially, yes. But don't worry, lad. If you're as good a fighter as you claimed you are, you could do quite well there. The champion prizefighters live like kings. Kings owned by bigger, wealthier kings. Now, off with you. Have canon master Lex take you back down to the brig. I'm sure we'll talk again quite soon."

At the mention of her name, the redheaded pirate woman opened the door to the Captain's study and took Alfred's rope one again. When he didn't move, she gave him a swift yank of encouragement, and after that Alfred went quietly.

He felt drained as if he had just lost some kind of mental wrestling match. He continued to replay the conversations he had just shared with the captain over and over in his head and he was alarmed by how easily he had been goaded into answering everything he had been asked. It was something about those eyes. Somehow, when Arthur looked at him, he just couldn't stop himself from talking. It was like some sort of spell. Was he really a devil?

Numbly, Alfred returned to the brig and sat down, passively allowing Lex to reconnect him to the loop in the wall. He hardly even noticed when she left. It was Antonio's voice that finally snapped him back to reality.

"What happened? You look like shit."

"Nothing," Alfred answered, staring at his hands. "He asked me a lot of questions about my past and he made me play some sort of weird game."

"I told you not to give him what he wanted." Antonio chided gently, sounding exasperated but still sympathetic.

"I don't see why it matters. I'm no one, and he didn't ask me about anything really important."

"It might not seem important, but anything you told him, he can find a way to use against you. That's how he is. He's a snake."

"I don't understand him," Alfred said, not exactly to Antonio but more to the room at large. "What was the point of any of that? It was like I was some toy he was playing with because he was bored."

"That's exactly it, my friend," Antonio explained, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You were a toy to him. He's a pirate. They only care about two things: gold and themselves. Other people are just obstacles or playthings. They take what they want from whoever. They kill whoever gets in their way. They ignore laws and live to cause chaos. Pirates are destructive parasites."

"I hate that." Alfred flexed his fingers, trying to keep the circulation flowing into his bound limbs. "They just take advantage of those who can't defend themselves."

"Exactly." Antonio nodded. "But that's why pirate hunters like me exist. Pirates are the foxes in the hen house. We're the dogs who keep them out. We uphold the laws that protect the citizens and make sure their chaos can't spread."

Alfred looked up at him.

"It kinda sounds like you're trying to recruit me or something."

"In a way, I am." Antonio shrugged, leaning back against his wall. "You said before that you were no one important yet. You could become someone important. Listen, Alfred, you're a good kid. I like you. You might be able to help the little people like I try to. You might make a good pirate hunter yourself. If we both get out of here alive, make your way to Espa. I'll introduce you to some people I know. Might even take you into my own crew if you learn to speak Espan."

Alfred gave the offer some thought. His mission had already taken a huge detour. So much had happened, and he wondered if he'd ever be able to make it to his destination. But

"Maybe. There's something I'd have to do first. But that does sound a little appealing. I'd like to be able to help people. Maybe even be a hero one day."

"Think about it. My offer is always open."

He nodded, exhaustion washing over him despite having been sleeping no more than a couple hours ago.

"Hey, Antonio?"

"Yes?"

"I'm going to sleep a while longer. Wake me up the next time they bring food down."

"Alright. I will."

"Thanks."

Slumped against his wall, Alfred closed his eyes and drifted away into unconsciousness once more.


	3. Chapter 3

Rope tasted awful. The ones that had held his wrists bound for weeks even more so, salted with ocean water as they were. Alfred spat out stray fibers as he peeled his bonds away thread by thread, strand by strand. It was slow, frustrating work, but it kept him busy between the visits to the captain's study, which were growing continually more frequent, it seemed. Day by day he chewed away at them, determined to make some kind of progress. Antonio watched him from across the darkroom.

"I don't think that's much use, my friend," he had said at one point early on, "I've tried that on my own ropes. I was never able to make much progress. You'll just hurt your teeth."

But there was a difference in the ropes that bound Antonio and those that held Alfred. When he had first been tied up by the crew of the ship he had stowed away on, it had been clear that the ropes they used were far from new. They had been frayed and bleached of most of their color. Combined with the several days they spent soaked with seawater and Alfred's constant struggling, it was fair to say they were no longer in the best shape. And so he bit and he chewed and he pulled, each hour getting just a little closer to freedom.

Light flooded into the brig and the sound of footsteps made Alfred quickly put a pause on his escape plans. The now-familiar figure of Lex, the cannon master, and his unofficial warden appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

"Alright, up with you. Captain wants to see you again," she told him, fiddling with the knot that bound him to the wall.

"What? Again?" Antonio whistled and looked at Alfred with a cocked brow. "He seems to really like you, Alfred."

"The feeling is not mutual," he grumbled, standing as Lex took hold of his leash.

"Well then, maybe this time you can do everyone a favor and get close enough to kill him."

"Maybe," Alfred said.

"See you when you get back."

"Maybe…" Alfred said again, quieter this time so that only he could hear it. Lex led him away, up the stairs and on the familiar path to the Captain's study. This trip, he paid extra attention to his surroundings, noticing the positions of all the sailors, the ropes and the rigging, the lifeboats upside-down and bound tightly to the deck. If he could just get one of those boats in the water, he could paddle his way to freedom. He could find a new boat and continue on his journey, leaving this extended roadblock behind him. The most ideal time to make his attempt was during the switch from day crew to night crew. The bell that announced the change of deck crew had been the only way he could judge time passing. It would ring and the clatter above would stop a while as the pirates who had been sleeping all day switched positions with their daytime counterparts. After about five minutes of shuffling around, the clatter typical of an active ship would resume. Getting the timing just right would mean there would be fewer men on deck at the time, making his escape that much easier.

His planning came to an end as he was shoved in front of an all too familiar door. Without waiting to be told, Alfred entered the room. There was Arthur, sitting behind his desk as usual, not looking at Alfred as he walked in. Alfred sat himself on one of the uncomfortable wooden stools and stared at the Captain, expression dripping with obvious distaste.

Arthur flipped a short-bladed dagger over in the air and caught it blindly. He repeated this motion several times before pulling his arm back, the blade caught between two of his fingers, and hurled the weapon at the wall. It spun through the air before biting into the wooden walls and stopping, quivering several centimeters deep. Lazily, he stood up and swaggered over to the wall to retrieve the dagger. He sat down once again and began to toss the weapon in the air again. If Alfred didn't know better, he'd guess that Captain Arthur Kirkland was bored out of his mind.

"Tell me about the worst loss you ever suffered fighting in the underground."

And so the questioning began. Alfred looked at the floor as he thought back on the numerous fights he had been in. What was his biggest loss? When he looked up again, Arthur's eyes were locked on him.

"I was sixteen. I had been on a winning streak against guys my own age and size so they wanted to raise the stakes a bit. The next time I entered the ring, I was against this huge guy in his thirties, I think." So far, no interruptions. He had been entirely truthful so far, wanting Arthur to let his lie-detecting guard down. "I was… a little scared of him. But I thought I could win the fight. So when the bell rang, I charged at him. I got a few hits in but-"

"Stop. That was a lie." The triumphant look on Arthur's face when he uncovered a lie made Alfred hate him all that much more. "What really happened? The bell rang, you ran at him, and then…?"

"And then he grabbed me by the throat and threw me to the ground. I saw his boot coming at my face, and then I woke up alone in the ring."

"You woke up in the ring?"

"Yeah. They just shoved me to the side so they could keep fighting. When I finally woke up, everyone had gone home."

"What about your proudest victory?" He questioned. That was an easy one to recall.

"They set me up against four other guys. I kicked their asses."

"Lie."

"Fine, three other guys. But I still won."

"Lie."

"I didn't actually win that fight. They beat me."

"And another lie. At this point, I'm just dying to know what actually happened, Alfred. Drop the lies and just go on and tell me."

"... I won."

"Yes, I gathered that. How many did you fight?"

"...Five."

"Five? You fought five men and won? Oh, I can't wait to tell that story to the arena slavers. I'm dreaming of all the gold I can squeeze out of selling you."

"Are we done here?" Alfred grumbled. He had been interrogated so thoroughly in the past few days he couldn't imagine what else Arthur would think to ask him.

"Alfred," Alfred hated when he said his name like that, all patronizing and superior as if he thought he was a child. "Have I said we are done? Have I dismissed you?"

"No?"

"Then, clearly, we aren't done yet. Tell me about your brother."

"I can't tell you anything about him," Alfred huffed.

"Of course you can. You should know by now that keeping anything from me isn't something you're particularly good at."

"No, I mean I can't. I don't know anything about him. We haven't seen each other since we were ten."

"That's quite a long time. Why?"

"Because of Marcus."

"Your stepfather," Arthur recalled, sitting forward in his chair and tenting his fingers in front of his mouth. "The wealthy man who married your mother. What happened exactly?"

But Alfred was done. This story was too personal-too painful-to be toyed with in Arthur's twisted game of truth and lies. Alfred stared at the captain, resolute in his silence. Arthur stared back at him, and the quiet stretched between them like an endless ocean, rolling with an approaching storm. Then Arthur snorted and leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes at the ceiling.

"You're getting bold. I've been too easy on you lately. Are you going to be good and answer my questions? Or am I going to have to remind you who's in charge?"

Alfred pursed his lips and sat stiffly. He wasn't going to give in this time. Though Arthur was no longer looking right at him, he continued to stare right at his chin, refusing to let himself lose focus and potentially slip up.

Then Arthur heaved an enormous, belabored sigh and rose from his chair.

"Alright. Let me show you something." When Alfred didn't move, he went over and grabbed him by the rope, dragging him across the room by the neck. Arthur led him through the door in the back of the office, into the opulently decorated captain's quarters. The first thing Alfred saw upon entering the room was the enormous fourposter bed, it's sheer canopy surrounding the thick, cushiony mattress all dressed up with satin pillows and green silk sheets embroidered in silver thread. It was undoubtedly the centerpiece of the whole room, so elegant and rich that it commanded one's whole attention. Alfred's heart seemed to stumble over itself, his mouth going dry. Was the bed what Arthur wanted to show him? Why? Wait, if the bed wasn't what Arthur wanted to show him, then what exactly was?

"What's wrong with you?" Arthur asked, frowning back at Alfred, "You've gone entirely red in the face. If you're angry now, you're going to burst when I show you this."

The captain turned away from the bed and stopped in front of an armoire that Alfred hadn't even noticed when they entered the room. Oh. This was what Arthur was showing him. Gradually his pulse returned to normal. Arthur dropped his rope and opened one of the doors of the large cupboard and withdrew a gleaming metal object. It was a sword, blade so highly polished it was almost like a mirror. The grip was made with leather that, even without touching it, Alfred could see was of the highest quality. The guard curled around the hand and sparkled with gold and… were those diamonds?

"Pretty, isn't it? This is a treasure I took from your friend in the hold, the Admiral. And magical, too. It took me a while to figure out its spell, but I did it. Turns out that anyone cut with this sword can be tracked down by it. Once it tastes blood, the diamonds in the handle will glow when it is pointed in the direction of the target. I'm quite fond of it, you know. Think I'll use it when I finally decide to end him."

He set it back inside on a shelf, then picked up the next trinket while Alfred was still thinking about what Arthur had said about it being magic. He had heard of magic, but it wasn't a widespread resource in Amacia, the country Alfred was from.

Arthur held up another weapon. It was a long gun, covered in wood that was polished almost as shiny as the metal that made up its mechanisms.

"I took this from another pirate captain. It wasn't too long ago. The bastard only got one shot off before I ran him through with a saber. Look at how lovely the carving work on the handle is. I bet he took it from a naval officer or some other rich pansy. But that doesn't matter. It's mine now. And then there's this!"

He put the gun back on the shelf and withdrew a small cushion. Alfred recoiled at what was sitting on it. The skeletal remains of a human hand held together with an armature of wires. He began feeling a little queasy just looking at it.

"This belonged to a friend of mine. We used to sail together. Then he stabbed me in the back and tried to leave. So I took this as a reminder, both of him and of what he did to me. What do you think about that, my lad? I personally don't think I was hard enough on him."

Alfred watched as Arthur picked the hand up off the pillow and bent the fingers one by one, curling all but the longest down until he was chuckling at a skeletal bird a-flying. He opened his mouth, then stopped. Arthur was trying to get a rise out of him, he realized. He was trying to scare him into talking so he could continue with his stupid game. Slowly, Alfred shut his mouth again and shook his head stubbornly. Arthur's roguish smile vanished. His eyes narrowed and he chewed impatiently on the corner of his bottom lip as he put the hand away.

"So you're still going to be like that, aye? That's fine. I've got one last thing to show you." Arthur shut the door of the armoire and instead pulled open three drawers. "Take a look in there and tell me what you see."

His better judgment told him not to move, but Alfred was soon overpowered by curiosity. He stepped forward and peered inside the drawers. And his confusion drove words from his lips unbidden.

"Dolls?"

"Aye!" Arthur was smiling once again, though there was something dangerous in the way he bared his teeth. The captain reached in and withdrew one of the dolls. It was undeniably familiar. "I see you recognize this one. The red yarn was hard to come by, but I found some. Doesn't Lex look absolutely darling as a little rag doll? I've always been quite proud of my needlework."

Arthur held a cloth doll, only a few inches tall. Its body was crafted from a rough tan canvas, its clothes of worn linen. Bright blue buttons sat on the face, framed by crimson yarn hair. A simple stitched 'X' took the place of her mouth. It was honestly adorable, but staring into those button eyes gave Alfred an inexplicable sense of dread.

"Getting her to give me some of her hair was quite a task, but she eventually submitted and handed it over. I wouldn't have been able to finish the enchantment without it."

"E-...enchantment?" Alfred looked up at the captain, who was gently smoothing the doll's clothes. "These are magic too?"

"They are, indeed. My own magic. I take hair and sew it into these dolls to seal the spell into it. I have one for every member of my crew" He turned Lex's doll around and lifted the back of her tiny shirt. Alfred saw flashes of shiny auburn forming hair-thin lettering.

'_Alexis Roberts'_

"I have one of Antonio as well, though his is a little different."

Putting little Lex back, Arthur took out a dark-haired doll with a deep tan burlap for a body and an elaborately stitched coat of red. Green buttons stared up at him. Arthur turned it around and showed Alfred its back. When the clothes were lifted away, Alfred saw a rusty brown script scrawled across the doll's back.

'_Antonio Fernandez Carriedo' _

That wasn't hair.

"Antonio was a special case. Pirates are terribly superstitious people. If I demanded blood from my crew, they would mutiny on the spot. But Antonio was already in bad shape when I threw him down in the brig. So I helped myself to some of his blood and used it to finish this. Blood is more effective than hair. In fact, the only thing more effective than blood in making one of this would be a tooth or a fragment of bone. And of course, knowing the person's full name is also a way to make it stronger."

"What do you mean more effective?" Alfred asked slowly.

"How about I show you?" And now Arthur's smile looked positively demented. "Didn't you wonder what I did with the hair I took from you?"

Alfred's blood went cold as Arthur set little Antonio back in the drawer and withdrew a different doll. It was made of the same material as the first. This doll wore only tiny trousers and had pink thread running over its body, mimicking old scars. Its hair was a sandy yellow and its eyes were made of a blue glass that had been painstakingly sanded down to circles and attached to the doll's face. Even before Arthur turned the doll around to show him the name, Alfred could recognize it as a mirror image of himself.

'_Alfred Jones'_

From the inner lapel of his coat, Arthur withdrew a small needle made of bone.

"These dolls are very special. As long as they keep a piece of the person they're modeled after, anything that is done to them is translated over to the real thing. For example…" And Arthur slowly pressed the needle into the chest of Alfred's doll.

Alfred staggered back, gasping for breath and doubling over as an incredible pain shot white-hot through his body, spreading from the center of his chest. It felt like he had just been stabbed. He looked down, searching frantically for the blood he was certain had to be there. But there was none. The only evidence of injury was a small red mark that had appeared on his skin at the point of impact. Stunned, Alfred looked up at the almost sadistic smile Arthur was wearing.

"It's an incredibly effective way of controlling unruly passengers aboard my ship. Now, imagine that pain multiplied by ten and actually drawing blood. Now you have some idea of what it would be like if I had used your blood. A hair-bound doll is good for causing pain. A blood-bound doll causes injury. And a Bone-Bound doll can be used to kill the person bearing its name. If I were to thrust Antonio's doll into a barrel of water, he would feel like he was drowning. If I were to throw it in a fire, burns would cover his body as the doll was slowly destroyed. If I were to do the same to your doll, you would feel like you couldn't breathe, or you would feel an incredible, unceasing heat until the doll burned away and you were released from its binding. What I want you to take away from this, Alfred, is that I can do a lot to you, and you're powerless to stop me. If I were to set you adrift in the sea once again, that would be me being kind. And don't think you'll be safe when I sell you off to the fighting pits, either. Just imagine it. After a day of brawling for the entertainment of your masters, you'll lie exhausted in your cot and you will suddenly feel a poke and a prod and you will remember that no matter how far from me you are, you are helpless before me."

Alfred's stomach turned and tumbled as Arthur monologued to him. This was insane. Arthur was insane! He had believed that being prisoner on a pirate ship was better than dying alone floating free on the ocean. But he had been wrong. After seeing what he just had, he now knew that it would have been better for him to take his chances with the ocean. He couldn't stay here! He couldn't wait to reach land only for Arthur to continue to hold that kind of power over him! He had to get away with that doll! He had to do it now!

While Arthur was busy gloating, Alfred put all his recovered strength into his arms and pulled! The weakened ropes strained and then broke with a snap! His hands were free! Arthur's haughty grin turned to a look of shock. Not missing a beat, Alfred swung a fist at him. His right hook caught Arthur right in the jaw and spun the captain around. Alfred's doll fell from his grip and Alfred snatched it up before turning and sprinting as fast as he could out of the room, leaving the captain stunned.

Alfred barreled through the office and threw the door open so fast it crashed into the ship's wall. He saw Lex and the first mate, leaning against the quarter deck's railing. They seemed to have been in the middle of a chat, but it was cut short as Alfred came charging out. Before Either could think to react, Alfred shoved them both down. He planted a foot on the railing and leaped off, hitting the ship's main deck hard and almost losing his footing.

"The bastard's escaping!" he heard Lex shout behind him, followed by the first mate's booming voice.

"ALL CREW CAPTURE THE PRISONER! ALL CREW!"

All at once, every man and woman on the ship turned to face Alfred. He didn't just wait around to be apprehended. His legs pumped beneath him, propelling toward the bow of the ship as fast as they could carry him. He was built strong, not fast, and so the speedier members of the crew were fast catching up to him. As one grabbed for the rope that trailed behind him, Alfred stopped, pivoted around on one leg, and delivered a kick to the woman's kidney that sent her crumbling to the deck with a moan. He kept running, only stopping when a pirate got too close to him. He was gunning it for the lifeboats he had seen tied to the deck before. He had to reach them and untie one. Then he'd have to shove it overboard somehow. But once it was in the water, he'd be home free. He could just leap off and swim to it, then row away with this cursed doll before any attempt could be made to recover him! It was far from a perfect plan-there were too many people on deck to make this easy-but it was the only one he had!

He brawled his way through wave after wave of pirates, dodging attempts to grab him! At one point, one man managed to get hold of the collar around Alfred's neck. Alfred had grabbed the man, yanking him off before kneeing him in the gut and continuing to run. Chest heaving and sides burning with exertion, he fought his way towards the lifeboats. He was almost there! He could see them, lying upside down like a line of tiny mountains on the deck. So close to freedom!

A burning pain suddenly exploded in his shoulder, knocking all the remaining breath out of him. He stumbled under the shock of it and tumbled to the deck. In the blink of an eye, seven pirates tackled Alfred and pinned him down under their collective weight. Alfred struggled but could make no progress. He turned his head as far as he could manage and saw the handle of a short-bladed dagger out of the corner of his eye, sticking out of his back. He recognized that handle. It was the throwing knife Arthur had been playing with. As if summoned from this realization, the captain stepped into Alfred's line of sight and crouched down, a set of chains jingling on his shoulder.

"It seems that you're really done with playing games, aren't you, lad?" Arthur said, tone low and dripping with barely contained fury. He reached out and scooped up the doll that had fallen from Alfred's hands when he had landed prone. Failure threatened to crush Alfred even harder than the weight of the people on top of him. His only consolation was the deep purple bruise starting to bloom across the left side of Arthur's face. "That's fine. Guess I'm done playing games too."

He shrugged off the chains and they hit the deck with a loud clatter. Right away, more pirates got to work clapping manacles around Alfred's wrists and ankles and using a heavy lock to attach a short chain to the loop in Alfred's collar.

"Letting you get your strength back was a poor decision on my part, it seems. But I won't let that kind of mistake happen again. Since ropes won't hold you, I had to bring these out of my personal collection. You should be honored that I'm letting you use them." Then the captain yanked the knife from Alfred's shoulder, not bothering to wipe the blood from the blade. "Take him back to the brig. Make sure he's locked up nice and tight. And decrease the rations for both prisoners. No more twice a day meals. Feed them once every other day. Am I understood?"

The pirates called out a unanimous 'YES, CAPTAIN!' Those holding Alfred got off of him and he was yanked up by his arms.

"One last thing," Arthur said, staring Alfred in the eyes with a venomous gaze, "Patch him up. I want him in perfect condition when I sell him." With Alfred propped up by the crew, Arthur drew back a fist and punched Alfred hard in the gut. Alfred would have spit at him if he could have mustered a coherent thought over the writhing pain in his shoulder and stomach, but Arthur was walking away before the thought could fully materialize and Alfred was dragged back to the hold.

A heavy lock secured his chains to the loop in the wall. What was left of his shirt was cut away and his shoulder was bandaged by the rough hands of his imprisoners. Alfred looked at the shackles that now bound him. They didn't hold his arms together, as they had been with the ropes, but they were close enough together that there was no way for Alfred to get enough momentum for a good punch. The chains around his feet meant that even if he could find a way to free himself again, he would have no way of moving faster than a brisk walk. There was no way he was chewing through these bonds.

Antonio was quiet until the pirates left and the two of them were alone.

"That was quite a commotion up there," he commented, voice lacking all of its usual cheer. "I'm guessing that was your doing?"

Alfred didn't answer him. He didn't need to. He knew the chains told Antonio all he needed to know.

Almost everything he needed to know. Alfred looked up at his companion.

"Antonio, Arthur has your sword! And a doll with your blood in it."

"Excuse me?"

"A doll! Some kind of cursed doll! He has one for everyone on the ship. But theirs are made with hair. Yours has blood. He showed them to me and told me he can use them to hurt you, even from far away."

Antonio's face twisted into an expression that Alfred couldn't quite recognize. He heard a quiet mutter in a language he didn't know.

"The bastard. The dirty bastard. He's made poppits of us, has he?"

"Puppets?"

"A poppit," Antonio corrected his pronunciation. "It's dark magic. The kind that is forbidden in most civilized countries. It's a powerful tool of control, second only to actual mind control. I should have expected it of him. He is the green devil, after all. If he has used my blood, I am in deep trouble indeed."

"He has my blood now too," Alfred said, coming to the realization as he spoke. "My poppit only had hair in it, but now he can make it stronger."

"We are in the same boat, then, it seems. Damn."

As the two of them talked about their situation, Alfred felt a scraping across the chest, followed by the warm wetness of blood. The wound was little more than a scratch, but the message couldn't have been more clear. Despite what Arthur had said, the games were far from over. Alfred was his plaything.

And he was powerless to do a thing about it.

**AN: Yo! Thanks to the people who favorited this story! I know that's a real nooby thing to say but I'm honestly hype that you're enjoying my self-indulgent pirate fantasy. I'm gonna keep this ship sailing as long as I can, so I hope I can keep you entertained the whole time. A bit of bonus information for you! Alfred's backstory as a brawler was inspired by a song that I love called "The Boxer." The version I like is sung by Mumford and Sons. It's about an immigrant to America struggling to find a way to make ends meet and missing his family. Unable to find any jobs that will take him, he gets into fighting and finds himself while doing that. If anyone out there likes folk songs, it's worth a listen. Thanks, everyone! Peace!**

**Nightingale (AKA 1Destiny)**


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